The Perpetual Curate

the trout, but welcomed him with a smile, as she felt it her duty to do, even when he was late for dinner. The Rector looked as if all the anxieties of the world were on his shoulders, as he came hurriedly along the gravel; and Mrs. Morgan’s curiosity was sufficiently excited by his looks to have overcome any consideration but that of the trout, which, however, was too serious to be trifled with; so, instead of asking questions, she thought it wiser simply to remind her husband that it was past six o’clock. “Dinner is waiting,” she said, in her composed way; and the Rector went upstairs to wash his hands, half disposed to be angry with his wife. He found her already seated at the head of the table when he came down after his rapid ablutions; and though he was not particularly quick of perception, Mr. Morgan perceived, by the looks of the servant as well as the mistress, that he was generally disapproved of throughout the household for being half an hour too late. As for Thomas, he was at no pains to conceal his sentiments, but conducted himself with distant politeness towards his master, expressing the feelings of the household with all the greater freedom that he had been in possession of the Rectory since Mr. Bury’s time, and felt himself more secure in his tenure than any incumbent, as was natural to a man who had already outlived two of these temporary tenants. Mr. Morgan was disposed to be conciliatory when he saw the strength of the opposite side.

“I am a little late today,” said the politic Rector. “Mr. Leeson was with me, and I did not want to bring him home to dinner. It was only on Wednesday he dined with us, and I know you don’t care for chance guests.”

“I think it shows a great want of sense in Mr. Leeson to think of such a thing,” said Mrs. Morgan, responding by a little flush of anger to the unlucky Curate’s name. “He might understand that people like to be by themselves now and then. I am surprised that you give in to him so much as you do, William. Good-nature must stop somewhere, and I think it is always best to draw a line.”

“I wish it were possible for everybody to draw a line,” said the Rector, mysteriously, with a sigh. “I have heard something that has grieved me very much today. I will tell you about it afterwards.” When he had said this, Mr. Morgan addressed himself sadly to his dinner, sighing over it, as if that had something to do with his distress.

“Perhaps, ma’am,” suggested Thomas, who was scarcely on speaking terms with his master, “the Rector mayn’t have heard as Mr. Wodehouse has been took very bad again, and aint expected to see out the night.”

“I am very sorry,” said the Rector. “Poor ladies! it will come very hard upon them. My dear, I think you should call and ask if you can do anything. Troubles never come singly, it is said. I am very sorry for that poor young creature; though, perhaps, things have not gone so far as one imagined.” The Rector sighed again, and looked as though his secret, whatever it might be, was almost too much for him. The consequence, of course, was, that Thomas prolonged his services to the last possibility, by way of hearing what had happened; as for Mrs. Morgan, she sat on thorns, though her sense of propriety was too great to permit her to hurry over the dinner. The pudding, though it was the Rector’s favourite pudding, prepared from a receipt only known at All Souls, in which the late respected Head of that learned community had concentrated all his genius, was eaten in uneasy silence, broken only by the most transparent attempts on both sides to make a little conversation. Thomas hovered sternly over his master and mistress all the time, exacting with inexorable severity every usage of the table. He would not let them off the very smallest detail, but insisted on handing round the peaches, notwithstanding Mrs. Morgan’s protest. “They are the first out of the new orchard-house,” said the Rector’s wife. “I want your opinion of them. That will do, Thomas; we have got everything now, I think.” Mrs. Morgan was a little anxious about the peaches, having made a great many changes on her own responsibility in the gardening department; but the Rector took the downy fruit as if it had been a turnip, and notwithstanding her interest in the long-delayed news, his wife could not but find it very provoking that he took so little notice of her exertions.

“Roberts stood out against the new flue as long as he could,” said Mrs. Morgan. “Mr. Proctor took no interest in the garden, and everything had gone to ruin; though I must say it was very odd that anybody from your college, William, should be careless about such a vital matter,” said the Rector’s wife, with a little asperity. “I suppose there must be something in the air of Carlingford which makes people indifferent.” Naturally, it was very provoking, after all the trouble she had taken, to see her husband slicing that juicy pulp as if it had been any ordinary market fruit.

“I beg your pardon, my dear,” said Mr. Morgan; “I was thinking of this story about Mr. Wentworth. One is always making new discoveries of the corruption of human nature. He had behaved very badly to me; but it is very sad to see a young man sacrifice all his prospects for the indulgence of his passions; though that is a very secular way of looking at the subject,” said the Rector, shaking his head mournfully. “If it is bad in a worldly point of view, what is it in a spiritual? and in this age, too, when it is so important to keep up the character of the clergy!” Mr. Morgan sighed